Log of Imperial Court

["Emylie Fenring" <emylie@law.com>]

Imperial Selamlik -- Imperial Palace (Kaitain)

        The Imperial Selamlik, the throne room of His Majesty, The 
Emperor of the Known Universe, is a massive, elongated hall in the 
baroque style. The gold-leafed walls to the east and west slope 
gently upward, the division forming a gentle set of delicately 
detailed arches with triangular recesses. Inside one of the eastern 
recessed alcoves is the black desk of the Imperial Seneschal. Against 
the oval shaped, far north wall, atop a one and a half meter dais 
sits the imposing Golden Lion Throne. Housed under arched cowl, seven 
meters tall by six meters wide, the stone voussoirs that make up the 
arch jut outward protectively sheltering the Throne within the vault. 
Two narrow, golden pillars support the cowl from either side of The 
Lion Throne. Behind the Throne, to the rear of the dais dozens of 
elegant, golden columns line the north wall. 

        The ceiling, the culmination of the arches, is a rectangular 
vault filled with carvings of the finest detail. A soft golden light 
drifts downward, filling the chamber with a warm golden-pink hue. The 
floor is of bare, sheer black granite, polished to perfection, 
absorbing light and throwing only a subtle reflection. Imperial 
Noukker Honor Guards line the chamber at intervals.

        Black mourning drapes swag the arches, pillars and columns in 
respect for the recently deceased royals.


Imperial Seneschal> In a wave of black, the Bene Gesserit entourage 
arrives. Soundless and liquid, their presence drifts in as though it 
were no more tangible than mist. Motions uniform, they make their way 
towards the west alcove.

Imperial Seneschal> Ravn walks in quickly, brifly glances around. 
Then walks swiftly toward the assigned Alvstad Alcove.

Imperial Seneschal> Adrian enters the Selamlik, attentive gaze 
sweeping the arcades and alcoves, the host of Houses both Major and 
Minor here assembled to await on the Emperor's will ... no greater 
silent and sometimes all too un-silent clash of wills to be found in 
all the Known Universe. But he manages a broad and genial smile, 
nodding to certain personages whom he recognizes as he escorts the 
Countess Optinus-Corrino upon his arm.

Imperial Seneschal> Bjork enters with the Master of Assasins. Her 
footsteps make sonorous 'thwocking' noises as they walk towards their 
assigned position.

Imperial Seneschal> Kassian strides in at an easy pace, his entrance 
quiet and unobtrusive. His body is relaxed, but his eyes dart around 
continually. The grizzled commander does not try to hide his awe at 
the Imperial Palace.

Imperial Seneschal> The Rastanyev contingency moves through the 
Selamlik discreetly, with the Regent in their midst. They take up 
places in the eastern alcove, where they speak quietly amongst 
themselves, and with their close neighbors.

Imperial Seneschal> Quickly, the Marquis Ginaz strides in. His jaw is 
set in a determined line, and without speaking to anyone he takes up 
a spot in the eastern alcove.

Imperial Seneschal> Lireil stops with the rest of the Bene Gesserit 
entourage. She stands to the left of the elder Ysanne and softly 
folds her hands and arms to slip beneath her robes. Narrowing her 
eyes she turns her head slowly to take in those present.

Imperial Seneschal> Adrian draws his escort over into one of the 
alcoves, whispering to her softly as he does so.

Imperial Seneschal> Melisande moves with Adrian to the alcove, 
attentive to his softly spoken words.

Imperial Seneschal> 
        Without fanfare, and with the silent carriage of the 
dignified, the Baron Bajazet manifests himsmelf at the doorway; 
emerging from the threshold the thin and pepper-sharp man makes his 
way with a small entourage to the far alcove, soundless as soft heels 
make pace upon the floor.

Imperial Seneschal> Shyly, but with delicat moves, Lady Sisay Ginaz 
enters and quickly scans the huge room for her uncle and friends. Her 
nervousness can be seen by her quick breath and by the sudden moves 
of her head wich sends the waves of curly hair fluttering from one 
side to another.

Imperial Seneschal> An Imperial Page whispers in the Seneschal's ear. 
Despite years of carefully cultivated reserve, the man's angular jaw 
drops to the floor. His eyes stray to the golden doors to the Leonine 
Chamber. He awards the page a severe, questioning glare. The boy 
simply nods with the confidence of youth, secure in his knowledge of 
the truth.

The Seneschal clears his throat, signaling the heralds. A trumpet 
fanfare blows. As the last notes die out, the Seneschal 
announces, "Her Most Animate and Adored Imperial Majesty, Empress 
Tat'iana Rastanyev Corrino." Leading the pack, he kneels reverently, 
hand over his heart.
Slade moves into the Imperial Selamlik.

The Throne stands silent and empty on the dais at the far end of the 
room, the area behind and beside the dais not yet filled with those 
functionaries privileged enough to be to close to the Imperial 
presence. Noukkers, at present, lined the periphery of this area and 
flank the doors to the Leonine Chamber, rigidly at attention.

Perhaps there is some hidden signal given before the blare of the 
fanfare is issued, as Noukkers swing the heavy golden doors open 
slowly, and from the interior of this room cordoned off for so long a 
small procession issues. More Noukkers and black-draped Ladies in 
Waiting spill forth and fan off to the sides of the doorway, leaving 
the entryway gapingly open. There is another moment that passes, and 
a lone figure filles this doorway.

Her footsteps make no pause, no hesitation, as Tat'iana steps forth 
at a stately pace. Stoic of expression, her face even more a 
porcelain mask than before, the woman clearly is not in the strongest 
of physical conditions. Perhaps it is weakness that slows her stride 
beneath the weight of her formal court attire, but she plods on 
nonetheless.

And behind her, nannies from the nursery carry Their Imperial 
Highnesses, Corrin and Anuril, Prince and Princess and children of 
the Emperor and Empress.

Giant beast of gray and black dressed in the colors of the Hegemon 
looms over the children over the Prince, Princess, and the Empress. 
Single slit like eye watching the Royal family and the inspecting the 
crowd that has gathered. The Imperial Hegemon keeps close proximity 
to them with hands so near his weapons.

From the east alcove, Jacob performs a lithe bow, obesiance to the 
rumored-deceased Empress. <<Would that more people could return from 
the dead tonigh.>>

From the east alcove, Galen slips in a s quietly as he might, offers 
a quick but formal bow to the throne, and takes up position near to 
his Siradar.

As the Empress passes them, the Ladies in Waiting glide in to trail 
along behind in her wake, the Noukkers filing in behind them. The 
Hegemon, notably, places himself directly behind the Imperial 
children, close enough to be personally responsible for their safety 
during the small procession. And leading the Ladies in Waiting, all 
in mourning black, is the Lady Emylie Fenring.

Before Tat'iana can reach the dais, from another portal into the 
chamber four servants enter with quite a heavy burden. With slow, 
careful steps, they bear their load to the dais. The newly-placed 
throne gleams warmly in the light directed down by discreetly placed 
glowglobes, a precise match in all but size to the older one it was 
placed to the right of. Smaller, surely, but now a permanent fixture 
upon the dais to the right of the Emperor's throne.

With assistance from a vigilant Lady in Waiting, Tat'iana ascends the 
dais and remains standing in front of her new throne, awaiting the 
entrance of her husband, consort, and Padishah Emperor of the Known 
Universe.

Fashionably late even when they really shouldn't be, the last few 
Alvst trickle into the room. The Viscount himself is amongst the 
stragglers, and he adjusts his finery with as subtle an affectation 
as possible.

From the west alcove, Ysanne watches the arrival of the Empress with 
no small amount of interest, her head inclining as the entourage 
passes the west alcove. The Sisters with her, likewise, pay their 
respects with graceful curtseys.

From the east alcove, Ekaterina stands from her chair as she closes 
off the connections from her communicator, and there performs the 
courtesies.

You sense: Ysanne gazes at you from across the vast spaces of the 
chamber, her look perhaps unnoticed. Her white eyebrows are arched, 
however, her look...unreadable.

From the west alcove, Justine offers her respects to the Empress like 
all the others, lowering herself to a formal curtsey before rising 
and awaiting the Emperor himself.

The Hegemon follows the Empress and children up on to the dais, 
taking his place on her right.

Lifting coronets to their lips the heralds sound a loud and lengthy 
fanfare signaling the imminent entrance of His Imperial Majesty, The 
Emperor of the Known Universe. A murmur of excitement ripples across 
the Selamlik as heads begin to bob in respectful bows of courtesy. 
With proud intonation, the Seneschal's voice rings out across the 
Selamlik, "His Most Sublime Imperial Majesty, Erich Ladislas Corrino, 
The Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe."

Erich enters from the Leonine Chamber.

        The Emperor enters, dressed in military attire, with black 
robes of state draped over his shoulders and held in place with a 
golden lion brooch that glitters in the light as he moves toward the 
throne. His expression is tight, and grave. With little fanfare, he 
ascends the dais and growls, "Let Court begin. The throne stands 
ready to hear your petitions." He gestures impatiently as though to 
urge the proceedings to get under way.

        Smoothly does the Bajazet complement drop to their knee, 
Ruhail himself leading the noble squadron in genuflection.5R

From the east alcove, Jacob offers the required obesiance, smoothly, 
but he looks oddly nervous.

In a wave of black, the women of the Bene Gesserit sink into 
curtseys, offering their respects to the Lion Throne.

Down to one knee does the Sardaukar Hegemon go in respect to his 
Emperor. Eye cast down on the ground awaiting the Savior of the 
Universe. As the Emperor orders for court to begin he arises back up 
to his full height.

Even though she's not in black, nor part of the Bene Gesserit, 
Justine finishes the wave as she's next to the witches.

Erich sits down on the Golden Lion Throne.

Besides her uncle, Sisay also curtseys respectfully, hands knitten 
together before her to hide the nervousness.

Tat'iana slowly, carefully, eases herself down to settle on the new 
perch of her own throne next to Erich's. As soon as she's settled, 
one of the nursemaids steps forward, gingerly settling His Highness, 
Prince Corrin on the Empress' lap. Fortunately, both of the toddlers 
seem to be in good moods and at their best behavior for this event, 
even though both sets of twin eyes are round as saucers at the sheer 
number of people gathered. Such a large audience, of course, they've 
never seen before.

Isabella lowers her head and descends into a deep curtsey. As the 
Emperor speaks she stands upright and casts her gaze idly about the 
room before turning her attention back to the throne.

The Seneschal steps before the Lion Throne. Offering a deep bow to 
His Majesty, he raises his clear, confident voice to announce the 
first petitioner. "Your Imperial Majesty, Most Noble and Beloved 
Emperor, It gives me great honor to call the Lady Sisay Ginaz, 
legitimate daughter of the na-Marquis Ginaz before Your Most Glorious 
Throne with a humble petition.

Erich nods and sniffs quietly, "Let the Lady approach, then."

Her name being spoken, red from lips to ears of emotion and 
excitement, the young Lady Ginaz leaves the east alcove and rushes 
with small steps towards the throne. As she arrives at a decent 
distance, with her eyes to the ground, not daring even a glimpse in 
the direction before her, she drops in a most low curtsey. After a 
few moments she speaks in a low voice, barely enough for the Emperor 
to hear: "Your Most Sublime Imperial Majesty, I thank thee for the 
honour of being allowed to adress in this court..."

        The Padishah purses his lips as he watches the Ginaz Lady 
approach. Allowing a brief pause, he asks in a low voice, "Speak... 
and the throne will hear your plea."

Still looking down, the Ginaz Lady says: "Your Most Sublime 
Majesty... At first I wish to express my deepest sympathies on the 
tragic event which occured ... And for the memory of Her Highness, 
our most beloved Princess Jenaa and Your Majesty's Imperial 
Ecologysts, I wish to ask for your blessing in opening a beautifull 
park made by the men eho tend and seed the Empire's planets..." She 
pauses, the nervousness making her pause for a breath.

Corrin notices his father next to him, venturing a quiet 'Da!' before 
a nursemaid can distract him with the sudden presence of a favorite 
toy. He brings the small, abused but well-loved stuffed bear up to 
his mouth with his thumb, and does not venture any further outbursts.

        Erich's eyes dart angrily to the small child, but only for 
the briefest of moments before returns his attention to 
Sisay. "Blessing?" he asks, "And what do you mean... precisely... by 
that?"

From the right dais, Emylie hovers behind the Empress, nervously 
fidgeting with the ring around her neck. She's having a difficult 
time keeping still.

Sisay continues: "We wish to ask for financial support in having this 
park... this project which has been my teachers' dream for many years 
possible. It is our humble judgement that along the Imperial Reserve 
and the Conservatory, it will become a true pearl in Your Most 
Sublime Majesty's home..." Her curtsey drops even lower as she speaks.

        Erich frowns, looking down at the young woman with a grave 
expression. After an uncomfortable pause, he speaks, "Your petition 
is denied, Lady Ginaz. The Lion Throne has many important projects 
underway, and cannot lose focus on these in order to satisfy this 
request." Drawing a quick breath, his frown still fully in place, he 
mutters, "However, if you succeed in locating a patron to finance the 
project, the throne will cede the necessary land, and your project 
will find no objections." Peering down at her, he asks, "Is this all?"

Sisay sighs imperceptibly. At least I tried... "I perfectly 
understand." she says, adding: "With Your Most Sublime Majesty's 
permission, that would be all." She raises from her curtsey and walks 
backwards, pausing for another reverence before finding her way back 
towards her uncle.

From the right dais, Emylie smiles sweetly at Anuril as the child 
peeks around Her Majesty's chair. Emylie winks at the girl who grins, 
burying her face in the Empress skirts.

Without fanfare, the Justiciar enters the Selamlik. Pavel offers only 
a brief nod to the Alvst contingent, then finds a place near the back 
of the room.

Mintor walks in quietly, unfashionably late..

        The Emperor grunts softly and waves his hand in 
dismissal. "Call forth the next petitioner."

From his perch beneath the Lion Throne, the Seneschal strides 
purposefully to the area before the throne. Bowing again, he 
addresses himself to the Emperor, "Her Reverence, The Bene Gesserit 
Mother Superior Ysanne Dambria has presented herself to The Noble 
Throne of House Corrino and will now stand in attendance to close the 
final terms of Her Service to Your Most Imperious Majesty."

        Erich's jaw tightens slightly and he nods, the expression 
crisp, "Let her approach the throne."

Ysanne disengages herself from the Bene Gesserit entourage she 
entered with and makes her way towards the cleared space before the 
dais. The aba robe that cloaks her form ripples slightly in the 
breeze that is stirred by the brisk pace of her passage. Sinking into 
a respectful curtsey, the motion still smooth despite her many years, 
she lowers her gaze, awaiting acknowledgement from seat of the Empire.

        The Emperor peers down at the Reverend Mother before him for 
a long while, until the silence in the room becomes quite tense. 
Finally, he speaks, "You would serve the Lion Throne with your sight? 
Speak now, Reverence, the Throne is listening."

Tat'iana watches the proceedings, her expression stoic and unmoving 
as before. Though, curiosity does enter her eyes as she notes the 
Mother Superior. <<Her service? Another....?>>

The Reverend Mother fixes her gaze in the vicinity of the foot of the 
Lion Throne. Her voice, when she speaks, carries throughout the 
hall, "Your Imperial Majesty, the Sisterhood expresses its regret at 
the recent departure of the Reverend Mother Essla Patrarcha Hebbrun. 
Her many years have lead her towards ill-health, and have forced her 
withdrawal from the vaunted position of Imperial Truthsayer. If it 
please Your Imperial Majesty, I present myself, Reverend Mother 
Marsilius Ysanne Dambria, most recently Mother Superior of the 
Kaitain Chapterhouse, as replacement." Her gaze has not wavered, nor 
has her tone.

        Erich nods slowly. "Your offer is accepted. We ask that you 
join us upon the dais, that we might begin to make use of your 
services at once." He extends a hand, palm up, to indicate a standing 
position to his left.

Rising from her subservient position, the Reverend Mother is careful 
to keep her eyes focused upon the feet of the Emperor. She 
responds, "I exist to serve, Your Imperial Majesty." Moving forward, 
past the careful eyes of the many Noukkers surrounding the Imperial 
presence, she takes her place at the left of the Lion Throne.

        Erich takes a long breath and expels it slowly, as though to 
calm himself. His eyes close for a moment, and then they open as he 
mutters, "Let us continue. We have... much business to conduct."

Clearing his throat, the diminutive Seneschal totters hesitantly to 
the center area. Making a sign of humble obeisance, he reveals the 
next petitioner in a rush of nervous air: "Majestic and Imposing 
Majesty, I announce the imminent arrival of the base and lowly 
Viscount Yolinar Fenring, of late The Imperial Chancellor." This 
accomplished he scurries into the shadows anxious to avoid His 
Majesty's angst.

Yolinar enters from the Leonine Chamber.

At this pronouncement, it is the Empress whose hackles rise. Were she 
a cat, surely, she would hiss and spit. But alas, she is not, and the 
sole sign of her own animosity towards the former Chancellor is the 
narrowing of her eyes and a decided frown tugging at the corners of 
her mouth.

Yolinar enters, glancing around, an ironic look on his weasel-like 
visage. Still, he strides confidently to stand before the throne.

Yolinar stands in the area before the Golden Lion Throne.

A low growling comes from the back of the Hegemons throat as he 
sneers down at the approaching Yolinar showing his elongated canines 
 from under his damaged lips.

        Erich narrows his eyes at the erstwhile Chancellor. "Have you 
any plea to make, Viscount?"

Yolinar purses his lips, pouting even, as he looks first to Tat'iana 
and then to Slade. He looks quite amused at the Hegemon's 'display'. 
He turns back to Erich. "None, Majesty." He speak quite lightly, 
almost flippantly.

        The Padishah rises to his feet, drawing a long breath through 
slightly flared nostrils as he pauses a moment. His eyes rise, 
briefly, to the gilded ceiling of the chamber, then close as he 
begins to speak.

        "In ancient times, disputes between men were not carried out 
with chaumurky or chaumas," he booms, as his eyes open, "they were 
not subject to the fineries of diplomacy and etiquette. They were 
more primitive.... and more satisfying."

        His jaw tightening, he continues, "We are fortunate that our 
forefathers, in crafting the Great Convention, understood this basic 
reality. This fundamental need for... satisfaction." The Emperor's 
words linger on this last word, and even after he has completed it, 
the ringing of the last syllable can be heard in the quiet chamber. 
His eyes turn to Yolinar, as he throws off his robe of state, and 
loosens his jacket. "The Chancellor has not denied his actions. He 
has taken the life of our sister, and our son, and very nearly that 
of our wife and Empress...... And I demand satisfaction."

        The Chancellor pauses for a moment, glancing around slightly 
as if there might be some sort of misunderstanding here. However he 
may frown and posture, he does not deny the charges.

        Instead, Yolinar looks straight at the Emperor ... daring 
even to make eye contact. Summoning bravado and courage, his reedy 
voice tries to match Erich's: "You shall have it, or something like 
it, Your Majesty." His bluster falls flat as he shifts from foot to 
foot.

        He covers the silence by slowly and carefully drawing his 
blade. He appears curiously already dressed for hand-to-hand 
combat ... but then again, the Chancellor has always been prepared 
for any eventuality.

You sense: Pavel focuses his attention on you, perhaps hoping you 
will see him and remain strong by his own force of will.

Tat'iana's eyebrows rise, and she turns her head to glance at the 
nursemaid hovering just off to the side of the dais. She doesn't move 
to give Corrin back to the woman, though, her grip on the sleepy 
toddler all the tighter as she turns back to watch what is shaping up 
to be... a duel. Presence of mind is maintained, however, and she 
keeps her jaw from hanging open. Just barely.

Slade goes from anger to confusion making the sound that a wolf makes 
when being hit in the head with a shovel. "Your Majesty." Eye wide 
not sure what exactly is going to happen.

Clasping her hands together tightly, Emylie presses them against her 
lips, visibly paling. Her brows knit together in an anxious knot. She 
looks around her, eyes falling on the Hegemon. Her shoulders slump.

        Erich rolls his shoulders as though loosening himself for 
action, but he does not take his eyes from Yolinar. He lays a hand 
out and an attendant places a sheathed blade on his palm. His intense 
glare still upon the Chancellor, he speaks once more, his voice clear 
and loud, "Should I fall, be it known that my firstborn son, Corrin 
Eduard Janus Ladislas Corrino is hereby officially blessed as my 
heir, in accordance with the Forms. Until he is of age to rule on his 
own, my wife and Empress Tat'iana Anstasovna Rastanyev Corrino shall 
serve as Regent-Empress on his behalf. I have signed, by my hand, 
written declarations of these pronouncements."

        With that, the Emperor swings his hand sharply, the sheath of 
his blade slipping off and clattering loudly on the marble floor. He 
lifts the bright steel before him, which glints in the shaft of light 
that streams in from above. It is slightly curved, and tapered to a 
razor sharp tip -- the characteristic blade of the Sardaukar. He 
steps down from the dais and on to the main floor of the Selamlik.

Tat'iana mutters only one word as the shock of the pronouncement 
reaches her ears, and the danger behind Erich's actions.

"Beloved..."

From the east alcove, Ruhail looks to the Atreides lord. "Men must 
settle matters as men, my lord. It is the will of Allah."

        The Chancellor scuttles forward, the dark rings under his 
eyes only accented by his intent stare at his opponent. He clears his 
throat lightly, and grins, a toothy, feral grimace.

        "So, it is to be to the ... hmmm, death, is it?" He glances 
quickly to his daughter. "My daughter, Emylie Ariane Fenring is still 
to be heir to my Viscounty, hmmmmm, in the /unlikely/ event of my 
demise."

From the east alcove, Galen cracks his knuckles, his eyes a glint as 
they shift back and forth between the two men, intently scrutinizing 
each man's every action and expression.

Lips trembling, not trusting herself to speak, Emylie can only shake 
her head. Her eyes are anguished, fixed on the figure of her father.

The Hegemon glances over to Emylie and Tat'iana. Fearing that even 
now this could be dangerous to the Royal Family, he moves closer to 
the Empress and the children. Hands gripping his saber and kukri. 
Ready, waiting as his lips twitch for the blood that is soon to come.

        Erich spares a quick, reassuring glance to Tat'iana before he 
turns, fully, to face Yolinar. He nods, "To the death."

        The Emperor begins to circle, his movements smooth -- almost 
graceful. His blade flashes, glintin in the light as he moves it, the 
circles tightening as he comes closer... and closer...

From the east alcove, Ruhail grunts thickly at that. "Remember, my 
lord, that His Majesty is the leader of all his feared Sardaukar. 
There is no challenge to be found here."

From the back of the room, Pers tips his head towards Kassian in 
silent agreement, observing the proceedings. "Not that there's any 
Judge of the Rite to account for your words, Fenring," he states with 
enough force to carry just beyond the Alvstad delegation.

Leaning forward from her position on the Dais, the Reverend Mother's 
expression has slowly turned decidedly grim. Known for their 
impassivity, it is odd to see a Bene Gesserit appear so openly 
concerned. She glances intermittently at the young Lady Fenring.

Wensicia steps forward slighty, nearly leaving her place in the 
alcove but remaining slightly in the shadows. Emperor fighting with 
the one-time chancellor indeed. Her hand slips to her side almost 
imperceptably, toying slightly with something there while her 
thoughts are clear to the witches beside her, " <<No little Erich, 
you won't fall, we won't permit it.>>

        Yolinar prances and chitters to himself, his teeth and tongue 
producing some sort of rhythmic clacking. His red-rimmed eyes promise 
bloody murder, and his rictus grin revels in it.

        Quickly, Yolinar skitters forward, the light patter on the 
floor heralding his crossing of the intermediary ground. A whirl and 
high feint masks the true attack, coming in low, to hamstring the 
Emperor. Even as the blow is attempted, he prepares to dance nimbly 
away.

Fahahd slips in late...only to pause, frozen by the spectacle before 
him. THere's a moment of shock, as if he'd come in to find a giant 
hookah-smoking Caterpillar on the Throne, before he reassembles his 
composure and finds the appropriate place.

In an unexpected move, Tat'iana's right hand drops to rest palm up on 
the arm of her chair. The hand is there, offered, for the young Lady 
Fenring should she need support so close by.

A black clad figure moves throughs the entrance and moves to the side 
to the back of the room. His eyes scan the room of what is before. A 
takes in a breath and continues to observe. He seems a familiar face 
of House Moritani, a member of his staff and moves up silently to 
stand beside her.

        Erich's blade moves quickly -- a blur -- as he blocks 
Yolinar's deceptively quick attack. He continues to move in a circle 
as they separate and then begins to slow down, his movements 
languid... almost lazy. Then, suddenly, his first attack comes; he 
pounces forward explosively, his blade moving in a furious blur 
before him towards the Viscount. The swiftness and power of the 
attack is surprising and fearsome -- a brief glimpse into the dreaded 
jaws of the Sardaukar.

Emylie gasps at the Emperor's swift attack. Needing no further 
encouragement, she slips her fingers into the Empress' hand, 
clutching for dear life.

You sense: Martin's eyes look to you for a moment before returning to 
the fight before him.

        The much smaller Chancellor puts up his sword as if to parry 
this fearsome blow. However, Yolinar's intent is actually to escape; 
no match for the Emperor's strength, he relies on his refined 
dexterity to dance and patter out of the way. His false parry seems 
designed to allow Erich to overextend himself, as he does not resist 
the force of the blow. He ends up crouching under Erich's left arm, 
and with a curious high-pitched shriek, he viciously stabs upwards at 
the Emperor's neck.

You pemit, “Tearing her eyes from her Father, Emylie searches the 
Justiciar out across the room. Her eyes, afraid and desperate, plead 
with you.” to Pavel. 

Tat'iana mutters something quietly, for Emylie's ears only, though 
her head does not turn from the deadly dance of blades taking shape 
in front of the dais. Even paler, she seems, than before, the bulge 
in her lower cheek indicating a distinct tightness within her 
clenched jaw. One of them, after all -- her or Emylie -- will walk 
out of the Selamlik mourning a loved one. Of course, she prays to the 
Great Mother it's not her.

You paged Ysanne with 'You'd notice Emylie's eyes are afixed on her 
father, save the occasional desperate glance towards the back of the 
room where the Lord Justiciar stands.'.

        Erich twists his head abruptly to the side, and curves his 
body in an odd -- almost awkward manner. This strange defense is not 
effective; the Chancellor's blade brushes against the Emperor's 
cheek, drawing a long bead of blood.

Tat'iana pages: Something like 'It'll be alright. We'll survive this, 
you and I, together. I am here for you.'

You sense: Pavel closes his eyes briefly, nodding in reassurance and 
mouthing "It must be this way."

        Yolinar's yell turns into a howl of impotent rage as his 
blade glances upwards. A palpable hit indeed, but one unlikely to be 
of much significance save in a duel to first blood. This duel must 
end in death, so the damage is negligible.

        The Chancellor stumbles slightly to his left, awkwardly 
balanced. The savageness of his attack (met with too little 
resistance) has thrown his center of balance too high, and though he 
struggles to regain a better defensive posture his hands and blade 
are still too high. He's vulnerable, and by the look of abject terror 
in his eyes, he is all too aware of his predicament.
Engrossed in the terrible scene in the Selamlik, Emylie emits a 
shrill whimper, fear evident in her tone. In response to the Empress' 
whisper, she clasps the woman's hand between her two pale, cold hands.

From the east alcove, Fahahd isn't upset at all. In fact, there's a 
certain manic eagerness gleaming in his eyes, as he murmurs approval 
of a skillful parry. Add popcorn and a program, and it might as well 
be another fun evening down at the Arena as far as he's concerned, 
nevermind the august station of the combatants.

        In this moment, as the Viscount stumbles, Erich explodes 
forward. The attack is blindingly fast -- and in the blink of an eye 
the bloodied tip of his blade emerges from Yolinar's back, tearing 
its way through the man's robe. With a vicious move, Erich twists the 
blade and lifts, then releases it, yanking the platinum Fenring 
medallion from Yolinar's neck as he takes a step back. Dark blood 
covers his right hand, and is splattered on his jacket. He looks at 
Yolinar, expression stony.

From the east alcove, Ruhail rumbles appreciatively - a traitor's 
death, and well-deserved. The Baron is quite pleased at the victory 
of his friend and sovereign.

        Yolinar looks astonishedly down at the blade sticking out of 
his chest. He twists his neck around, spying the tip protruding from 
his back as well. He looks back up at Erich, and then crumples to the 
ground as his support is removed. As he bleeds profusely from front 
and back, he tries vainly to speak. However, he manages only a 
profound gurgle, so instead he fixes Erich with a long gaze. There is 
hate in it, yes, but also several other conflicting emotions. Duty 
and admiration, regret, anger, and several other less definable 
feelings. Most of all though, as his strength ebbs and he can no 
longer hold his head up to look at Erich, his expression is overtaken 
by an infinite, unaddressable sadness.

        After a few more ragged, wet gasps, the Chancellor is silent. 
His eyes, now dull and empty, are staring blankly at the currently 
unoccupied Lion Throne.

A strangled cry comes from the right dais. The blood rushes from 
Emylie's face and she wobbles dizzily in slow circles. Dropping the 
Empress' hand, her own fall limply to her sides. Pale as a sheet, she 
collapses slowly, disappearing behind the Empress' chair.

From the east alcove, Fahahd speaks aloud unthinkingly, voice soft 
but carrying in the shocked stillness, "Shabash, Padishah. Long live 
the Emperor,"
Ysanne's gaze is almost immediately upon the Lady Fenring. Grimacing 
at the gory display below, she returns her attentions to the 
victorious Emperor.

The Hegemons stoic face remains as it has while he stands near 
Emylie, Tatiana, and the two babes. Muscles still ready for whatever 
may come after this as they bulge with tension under the uniform. 
Though, as Emylie falls he barely manages to catch her before she 
hits the ground. Her light weight being easily caught by the powerful 
arms of the beast.

        Erich's jaw tightens as he watches the life drain out of 
Yolinar. Straightening his blood-splattered jacket, he accepts a hand 
towel from an attendant and wipes his hands. Looking back at the 
lifeless body of the Chancellor, surrounded in an ever expanding pool 
of dark blood, he declares, loudly enough to be heard by all, "He is 
not to be moved, nor is his blood to be disturbed."

        He tosses the bloodied towel back to the attendant and steps 
briskely up the dais, where he surrounds himself in his robes of 
state once more and takes his seat upon the Lion Throne. He looks out 
over the assembled nobles for a long while before declaring, "Let the 
Court commence."

After a shocked moment, the Seneschal jerks into movement. 
Fastidiously stepping over Yolinar's body, the man creeps before the 
throne. As he begins to make the next announcement, his usually 
clear, crisp voice, cracks like a pubescent boy. "Most Munificent and 
Humanitarian Majesty, The Baron bin-Alman Corrino, Bashar in The 
Illustrious and Terrifying Sardaukar Corps, has traveled by Your 
Supreme Command from Salusa Secundus here to the Fair and Noble City 
of Kaitain to present His Baseless Self before The Lion Throne." 
Gesturing openly, the Seneschal backs away from the throne, tactfully 
retreating in the opposite direction of the body. "Baron bin-Alman 
Corrino."

Silently, statue-like, Tat'iana remains upright and fully lucid as 
she sees the duel end. As her hand is released by the young Fenring, 
she brings it back to embrace her eldest, her son, drowsing in her 
lap despite the activity before them. She involuntarily brings a hand 
up, shielding the young one's face from the gore before them on the 
floor that he would surely see if he were awake. Her grey eyes rest 
on Erich, shining with unshed and tamed tears, the trembling in her 
upper lip stifled with stiffness.

She need issue no order; the other Ladies in Waiting attend to the 
fallen Emylie.

Adrian leaves from his place in the east alcove.

Martin Rinaldi, the black clad figure, steps foward from the crowd 
near the back wall. He stops and sighs before stepping into into. His 
eyes were towards the raised dais and fallen lady before he stepped 
back.

Adrian detaches himself from the alcove where he has rather 
conspicuously been present with the Lady Optinus-Corrino upon his 
arm. The grim set to his jaw all the more natural given the rather 
inauspicious precedings, he kneels before the Lion Throne in 
perfectly-presented proskynesis, head inclining towards the 
floor. "Your Majesty, how may the least of your servants further your 
will?"
 From the west alcove, Alexandra stands still and unmoving like some 
ageless stoic, her emerald eyes following the still warm blood 
sliding along the cold stone floor, with a cool patience precision. 
Impassively, she surveys the faces of the Court, calculating, 
observing. Finally, her gaze strikes the dead man's face, and almost 
in respect she closes her eyes.

        The Emperor's voice booms loudly as the Baron makes his 
query, "You have been called to Kaitain, for service to the throne, 
Baron Bin-Alman Corrino. Do you answer this call, whatever it may 
bring?"

From the east alcove, Fahahd has dismissed the corpse on the floor 
with a glance - he's seen bodies before, and in far worse condition. 
He's still watching the Emperor,eagerly. It seems his respect for the 
power of the ruler has shifted from obligation to an abstraction to 
something a bit more concrete.

Prim and proper as ever, the Empress has tucked away in her sleeve a 
small silken handkerchief. At an appropriate pause, she fetches the 
hidden aide and discreetly offers it to Erich.

The Chancellor remains undisturbed where he lies, and simply 
continues to mutely bleed.

From the east alcove, Ruhail regards the Rastanyev scion. "May I 
assist you, dom-Tsara?"

Slade hands Emylie off to the laides in waiting to attend to and 
returns to his place beside the Empress. Stoic stare at the junior 
ranked Sardaukar before him.

Adrian rises from his bow, looking down a moment as some of the 
departed Chancellor's ick has leaked onto his boot, He gently wipes 
it off on a piece of tattered tunic before nodding to the 
Emperor. "Even unto death, my Emperor," he assures with a crisp 
salute.

        Erich swallows angrily as he looks down at Adrian's boot. His 
voice rises as a growl, "Then you are named today as Caid of Kaitain. 
Come and join us upon the dais. Stand to our left as we receive our 
subjects." Erich rises to his feet and booms as he points to the 
floor, "This blood is not to be further disturbed, upon penalty of 
doubling its volume!" He glares at Adrian as he returns to his seat 
and makes an annoyed gesture to the Seneschal to continue.
After much cheek-patting and handkerchief-waving, Emylie's eyes 
flutter open. She struggles unsteadily to her feet. She shakes her 
head to clear it, leaning for support upon the arm of her fellow Lady-
in-Waiting, Lady Elaine Fairchilde, one hand gripping the Empress' 
chair tightly. Deliberately, she averts her eyes from her dead 
father, choosing instead to stare stonily towards the back of the 
room.

The Seneshal's eyes stray to the gathering crowd to the left of the 
Imperial Throne. He offers a week smile. Bowing deeply before the 
throne, the man makes a show of renewed buoyancy. "His Excellency, 
Siridar-Marquis Jacob Ginaz does present Himself with a formal 
request for Your Splendorous Majesty."
Adrian bows to the Emperor at the chastisement, frowning at his boot 
before moving as bidden to stand upon the dais at the left of the 
Hegemon, doing his utmost not to meet the evil eye.

        Erich snaps impatiently, at the mention of the Marquis, "Then 
let him approach and be heard!"

Jacob stands in the area before the Golden Lion Throne.

        As he is called, the Marquis Ginaz steps quietly forward. 
Despite the echo-friendly nature of the room, his soft footfalls make 
no discernable sound. He nimbly avoids the garish (and still-
bleeding) remnants of the Chancellor's body without deigning to look 
at it. And so he comes to wait, standing tall and proudly, to await 
recognition.

        The Padishah draws a deep breath, as though to calm himself, 
as he regards his cousine before him. He purses his lips and speaks 
softly, the exquisite acoustics of the chamber serving to amplify his 
voice for all. "Speak, cousine, and you will be heard."

        Similarly, Jacob speaks quietly and allows the carefully 
engineered acoustics to do his work for him. "Your Imperial Majesty, 
I come before you now to ask that my marriage to Her Highness the na-
Empress be recognized. It was conducted in haste due to some worries 
about certain ... plots against Her Highness. Plots which, 
unfortunately, came true." He indicates the body of Yolinar with a 
flick of his gaze. "As Your Majesty had granted me permission to 
court Her Highness, it seemed ... our best option."

From the left dais, Ysanne glances briefly towards the man that joins 
her at the left of the Lion Throne. Her attention, however, is almost 
wholly upon the Marquis below.

Tat'iana barely stifles a small sigh, her expression hardening as the 
request is voiced. To mask any further faces she might wish to permit 
herself, she glances down to Corrin, even more soundly asleep in her 
lap. Though the young boy's thumb is still firmly placed in his mouth.

        Erich's expression sours as he looks down on the Marquis 
Ginaz. He nods slowly, "The death of our beloved sister is indeed a 
tragedy... deeply felt." He indicates the black draperies of mourning 
which still cover the walls of the Selamlik.

        Pausing to let his words sink in, he continues, "We had all 
eagerly and joyously looked forward to a union between our Houses."

        "Nevertheless," his voice hardens, "I will not allow the 
authority of the Throne in this matter to be swayed or undermined. 
Given the dire circumstances..." his eyes drift again to Yolinar's 
body, now in a broad pool of blood, "we will forgive you for 
conducting the ceremony without our acquiescence. However, we will -
not- honor its consequences. In the eyes of the Throne, no marriage 
has occurred."

        The Marquis' jaw sets, though he presents little argument to 
this proclamation. He offers a low nod to signify his understanding, 
and starts to speak. "If I may ..."

        However, he trails off, catching movement out of the corner 
of his eye, when all should be still.

Airia leaves from her place in the west alcove.

One of the sisters in the Bene Gesserit contingent steps forward. "I 
must speak," her soft voice rises clearly, and in spite of its gentle 
timbre, it commands a palpable authority and confidence. She emerges 
 from behind the other sisters...

        She is immediately recognizable; she is the Princess and 
sister to His Majesty the Emperor, Jenaa Alexandra Corrino.

        Issuing a deep curtsey to her brother, she asks, "May I have 
voice, Majesty?"

Gasping audibly, Tat'iana nearly rises from her seat. Truly, this is 
the night of the dead to walk once more. Eyes dart wildly, first to 
Erich, then to Jacob, and at last they rest on Jenaa. Her lips move, 
but no sound comes forth.

With the jostling, Corrin awakens, whimpering quietly at the 
disturbance. It seems... the lions' cranky mood is catching. Like 
father, like son.

        The Marquis stands, blinking and peering comically. If he's 
not totally and utterly stunned by the sudden appearance of his 
murdered fiancee, then he is a first-rate actor.

        Erich blinks, and rises to his feet, his face bearing an 
expression of unmasked astonishment. Wordlessly, he shoots another 
glance at Yolinar and swallows as he looks back at her. Finally, he 
simply nods in answer to her request.

From the back of the room, Martin sighs sadly at the sight of the 
Princess and shakes his head.

From the west alcove, Lireil watches Quietly and alertly.

Jenaa's voice rises again, to fill the chamber, "The Chancellor's 
assassins were skilled. But the man who lies dead by my brother's 
swift and just blade did not succeed in all of his acts of treachery."

From the east alcove, Fahahd sways visibly, once, like a tree in a 
high wind, before again mastering himself. And he was the one who 
knew she wasn't dead..but it's still a shock. After that instant, he 
favors the supposed Princess with a wide-eyed stare, as if he could 
determine if this is in fact the genuine article by gaze, even at 
this distance.

From the back of the room, Pavel smiles broadly, not the least 
surprised by the Princess' reappearance.

        Erich simply nods, slowly taking his seat once 
more, "Continue..." he looks at her intently as he listens, quickly 
darting his eyes about the room ... almost as though to gauge the 
reactions of others around him.
 From the west alcove, Alexandra raises her eyebrows minutely as the 
once-dead princess returns. Amusment plays across her eyes, and a 
small grin passes over her otherwise impassive face.

Jenaa stands in the area before the Golden Lion Throne.

Perhaps the only person in the hall not gaping at the re-apperance of 
the Princess, the Imperial Truthsayer looks around at those 
assembled, taking an inventory of those who are surprised and those 
who are not.

        Jacob's jaw sets, and his eyes glaze. Those who know him well 
know that he tends to become passive when totally out of his element; 
those who don't know him (and happen to glance his way) simply see a 
man who is utterly dumbfounded and waiting for someone to explain 
what's going on.

Jenaa looks at Jacob briefly, then returns her attention to the 
Emperor. "The Chancellor's network of treacherous spies did not cut 
as deeply as he imagined. Several of his agents remained loyal to 
House Corrino in spite of his beliefs to the contrary. I was informed 
of an impending attack, and ... took measures to ensure that he did 
not succeed." Her eyes fall to the floor and she speaks quietly, "I 
ask the forgiveness of His Majesty, and Her Majesty ... and the 
Marquis Ginaz for this deception. My survival depended upon 
maintaining the utmost secrecy."

From the east alcove, Galen stares almost brazenly at 
the 'resurected' Princess, taking in every possible detail. Better 
safe than sorry after all.

        The Marquis looks first at Erich, and then back to Jenaa. He 
takes a few steps toward her, and then stops. He whispers, "Of course 
I forgive you, Highness." He awaits Erich's response.

You pemit "Emylie locks her eyes on to yours, as if establishing an 
invisible line that will keep her sane during the ordeal. She seems 
only vaguely aware of the Princess reappearance if at all." to Pavel.

From the east alcove, Fahahd hasn't noticed Mintor's faux pas, it 
seems. Rather, he's still staring raply at Jenaa, as if he expected 
her to vanish in a puff of smoke like a theatrical demon, or become 
someone else. His eyes are suspiciously bright.

You sense: Pavel returns your gaze, nodding reassuringly to you.

"When put in such a way, I see no way that my own forgiveness cannot 
be given. Gladly so, it is yours," Tat'iana murmurs after a long 
pause, re-settling herself in her seat and silencing Corrin as she 
rocks him back to sleep.

Jenaa nods gravely towards Jacob and the Empress, her eyes moving 
expectantly to Erich, upon whom all rests...

        Erich rises to his feet, astonishment still plainly evident 
on his face. He allows a small smile to touch his face. He looks to 
Tat'iana and back to Jenaa before speaking. When he does so, his 
voice is strong and loud, "In the fortnight past, my beloved wife 
returned to me -- seemingly from death's embrace. And now my sister 
does the same!" He points at Yolinar, "Let all bear witness to the 
fruits that treachery against Our House will yield! You, my cherished 
sister, are forgiven any deception, and it is with open arms that we 
welcome you home! Come. Let us look upon you."

Jenaa turns her head, offering a quick glance and smile at Jacob as 
she steps up the dias before the Emperor.

Galen narrows his eyes to 'record' the 'embrace'.

        Jacob speaks in a confident tone, having apparently recovered 
 from the shock enough to think straight. "Your Majesty, please 
consider my petition, to have the previous wedding recognized, 
withdrawn. Instead, I would petition Your Majesty to grant permission 
for a new, public, and formal wedding to take place at a mutually 
convenient date and time." A light smile lingers around the corners 
of his mouth.

        Erich rests his hands upon her shoulders and peers deeply 
into her eyes, as though attempting to convince himself that what he 
sees is real. Finally he begins to laugh, and turns to Tat'iana. "She 
is alive! What good fortune is this!" Turning to address the 
assembly, he shouts, "Tear down the black raiments! Our period of 
mourning has ended in a manner sweeter than could have been hoped!"

        Attendants move quickly at the command, pulling down the 
black drapes that line the walls.

        At the Marquis' spoken request, the Emperor allows himself a 
wry smile and he nods, "This new petition is granted. Tomorrow, let 
us begin to discuss the particulars of this celebration that will 
bind your House to mine. Until then, you are dismissed and may depart 
in our good graces, Marquis."

From the east alcove, Fahahd's face has lapsed back into its usual 
reserve, though he's still watching Jenaa, to the exclusion of all 
else.

Jacob bows extravagantly, smiling. "I am deeply honored and grateful, 
Your Majesty." He backs away as tradition dictates and returns to his 
previous spot.
Jacob leaves from his place before the Golden Lion Throne.

From the east alcove, Sen leans forward intently at Fahahd's 
shoulder, focussed on the princess as if trying to smell her.

Erich takes his seat upon the Throne, "Let us resume..." he 
says. "What other surprises await us this blessed evening?"

Late... ever so fashionably late... the Contessa Moritani enters as 
quietly as she can, and on the arm of the Moritani Mentat-Chancellor, 
Wilhelm Falkenberg, Baron of Nicanor. Blinking in some measure of 
surprise at all that she sees -- the dead body, the resurrected 
Princess, and the black drapes of mourning being yanked down -- she 
gives Wilhelm's arm a light tap and they move to a discreet spot in 
the crowd at the back of the room.

The seneschal sidles up before the Emperor still throwing astonished 
glances at the Princess, "Your Imperial Majesty, the Siridar-Baron 
Ruhail Bajazet, Baron of New Adrianopolis does request a moment of 
Your Most Priceless Time to ask for a small boon." The man bows 
deeply. "The Lord Sultan."

Ophelia stands in the back of the room.

        The Baron emerges from the eastern alcove to stand before his 
friend and sovereign; genuflection sets him perilously near the 
cooling ichor of the late Chancellor. "My most fortunate and 
victorious sovereign," he intones in his gentle, brassy voice, "The 
House of Bajazet humbly requests that His Imperial Majesty hear our 
request."

        Erich nods slowly taking a few breaths to relax himself. It 
has been quite an evening, "Yes, Cousine. Speak your petition. We sit 
prepared to hear you."

        A nod. "Tragedy has struck our house, as His Majesty no doubt 
knows; the time has come for a father, and a lord, must choose a 
leader for his people when his life comes to and end. I have, 
therefore, chosen the one who shall be my heir and the future Sultan 
of my people, and the inheritor of my noble title. I would beg His 
Majesty's confirmation, so that he may be installed as per the rules 
of our society."

        The Padishah nods slowly, "Indeed," he remarks, "We wish to 
hear the heir named, cousine."

        "I would name my son, Muradin ibn-Ruhail Khan, the na-baron 
of house Bajazet."

        Erich draws a long breath and nods several times, "The throne 
is not displeased that our cousine has seen fit to name his son. Yet, 
in matters of such importance, we should move with some caution, yes? 
I should like a meeting with you and your son. A private audience, in 
which I may see his mettle for myself, before I give my blessing to 
this. It is only prudent."

        "As commanded, my lord and sovereign. I shall speak with the 
Seneschal see that the matter isa arranged." Still upon one knee, the 
Baron bows his head. "If there is nothing else, Your Majesty, I shall 
withdraw."

        Erich nods, "You may depart in our good graces, cousine. Next 
petitioner!"

Sliding to the area before the throne, the obsequious Seneschal bends 
forward into a sweeping bow. "O' Most Contented and Agreeable 
Imperial Majesty. It is with the utmost honor and respect that I have 
the satisfaction of calling forth one of the Imperium's most Noble 
and Respected citizens. With great pleasure, I do pronounce that His 
Lordship, Siridar-Baron Boris Harkonnen has arrived with a special 
request for Your Imperial Majesty's finely attuned ears."

        The Padishah nods and booms, "Let him approach, then, and be 
heard."

        And depart he does, withdrawing into the shadow of the 
eastern nook with the remainder of his company."

Tat'iana shifts the sleeping Corrin ever so slightly on her lap, 
gently re-settling the toddler in something more comfortable for her 
to maintain. The motion is well-timed, actually. Perhaps the inflated 
rumors of the Baron Harkonnen's taste for baby flesh have reached 
Imperial ears?

The Baron Harkonnen emerges from the throng near the east wall, 
offering a sour expression towards the retreating Bajazet Siridar. 
Taking measured steps to the place before the Throne, he offers a 
courtly bow and rumbles, "Your Majesty. House Harkonnen comes before 
you with a request for ennoblement of one of its finest."

Boris leaves from his place in the east alcove.

From the west alcove, Alexandra stands straight observing the Baron 
intently, her gloved hands clasped before her. She holds her head 
high, her expression cooly impassive. Briefly her eyes flick to 
Fahahd, and then return to the dais.

        The Emperor leans back in his throne as the Harkonnen 
approaches, "Oh?" he asks, as though he's heard nothing of this 
request until this very moment.

Boris gives a grin. "He's done great service to the House, Majesty."

        Erich purses his lips and nods, his eyebrows rising, "Yes? 
And what is that, dear cousine?"

Boris pauses before explaining, as if thinking back over the lines in 
some play. "In addition to repeated excellence as a captain of my 
guard..."

        Erich nods and leans forward, a curious smile touching his 
face as he looks upon the Baron Harkonnen.

Boris rumbles, nose wrinkling, "He also showed heroic self-sacrifice 
in the finest traditions of the Imperium. As Baron of the ancient 
House Harkonnen..." He breaks off his rather stilted speech a 
moment. "Don't you want to know who it is, Majesty?"

        The Emperor nods slowly, "Yes, yes. I do, cousine... and 
please... do continue, I wish to know the deed for which he is to 
receive this nomination."

Boris glances towards his retinue in the corner before continuing. He 
decides to go off script a moment. "Fahahd al-Alaurens, Majesty. His 
family has served mine for generations. The two of us were marooned 
in the icy wilderness of my homeworld, and he showed himself quite a 
capable fellow." He strokes a plait in his beard. "Without him and 
his deeds, I'm forced to admit, I might not be standing before you 
here today. I would, with your Majesty's permission, receive his oath 
as a vassal lord of House Harkonnen and name him Earl of Skaya, a 
small fief on Giedi Prime. This honor is as rare as it is 
distinguished."

        Erich nods slowly and smiles as he leans back, 
comfortably, "Your request is granted, cousine."

Fahahd is waiting, poised, to be summoned, assuming he is.

Boris bows, deeply. He rumbles, "I thank your Majesty for this boon," 
then straightens.

        The Padishah nods, "Let us all see the man to whom we grant 
this title."

Fahahd picks his way forward with feline delicacy, avoiding the 
clotted gore left to slip gracefully down into a prostration close by 
his lord.

        Erich regards the man and nods his approval, "Do you swear 
your fealty to the throne?"

Fahahd dares raise his head enough to reply clearly, "Yes, Majesty."

Tat'iana looks down on the nominee with an arched brow. A small smile 
even touches her lips, and she nods ever so slightly to herself. 
Indeed, this is one that has also performed well in other areas, and 
has been noticed. A most pleasing motion to her, this one, even if he 
is of the lower-caste rabble. But not for much longer, apparently...

        Erich nods brusquely, "Then you are so named Earl of Skaya. 
We shall meet later and will discuss this further. It will be 
arranged. You are dismissed, cousines, and may depart in our good 
graces."

A pair of fashionably disinterested, leather-strap-clad Harkonnen 
pageboys unfurl banners from the box and blow a short tootle on their 
trumpets, packed just for the occasion. The banners read from top to 
bottom: "Huzzah Fahahd, Most Recent and Hopefully Most Long-Lived 
Earl of Skaya."

Boris glances sidelong at his vassal, bows again, then backs away 
 from the Throne.

Fahahd retreats, as well, respectfully.

The Seneschal sidles up to the Lion Throne, eyes following the newly 
ennobled Fahahd's retreat. "Most Uncomplaining and Judicious Majesty, 
we simple supplicants who appear with humble affairs far below Your 
Imperial Observation are exceedingly grateful for Your Royal Notice. 
While we have it thus, allow me to call forth The Noble and Deserving 
Siridar-Viscount Pers Eskilsen. His Lordship." The Seneschal backs 
away from the throne clearing the way for the Viscount of House 
Alvstad.

Pers begins the long walk from the very back of the Selamlik to the 
ten paces' distance petitioners keep from the Lion Throne. His black 
garments are oddly out of place now, but one might overlook their 
intended significance and merely consider him a well-dressed Viscount 
with a penchant for goth, minus the dyed-black hair.

The Alvstad's footsteps lose rhythm as he approaches the slowly 
clotting remains of Yolinar Fenring; unlike previous petitioners, he 
turns his attention to the body deliberately, carefully sidestepping 
the mess before arighting himself and trotting forward the remainder 
of the distance. A slight pull in his stride speaks of the discomfort 
that age and prolonged standing can effect.

Tugging his Familial Sash into proper display position as he glides 
to a stop, Pers folds into an officer's bow. "Your Majesty, House 
Alvstad wishes to address two items to the Lion Throne, both of them 
brief. I request the Padishah's permission to speak of them."

        Erich nods and grins, "Speak then, Viscount. You shall be 
heard."

Pers nods in acknowledgement, the mark of a businessman. "Thank you, 
Your Majesty. Firstly, I would present the Throne with this original 
Spacing Guild expedition map of the planet Liathon," He extends the 
frail parchment momentarily, letting it fall back to his side until a 
page can procure it. "...as a token of gratitude for granting to the 
Alvstad Polymercantile the Liathon Salvage contract. We hope to 
deliver a revised map at the conclusion of our term on that world."

        A page retrieves the map and Erich nods, "Many thanks, 
Viscount. Your gift is warmly received. And we look forward to the 
conclusion of your good work..."

Lireil moves from the west alcove to make her way quietly with only 
the rustle of her robes to the exit of the Selamlik.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Pers answers, a touch of pride in his 
voice. "Fortune passes everywhere." Surrendering the map, he clasps 
his hands behind his back. "On a more personal matter," he 
continues, "I request Your Majesty's permission and blessings to 
court the Lady Justine Garamond, scion of that fallen House and 
currently a Ward of the Imperial Household." Pers arights his head, 
keeping his gaze on the dais to avoid indiscretion without looking 
cowed.

Erich rises to his feet and lifts his eyebrows, "Oh? A courtship?" He 
smiles, "And has the Lady Garamond given her acquiscence for this?" 
His eyes turn across the assembly, looking for Justine...

Justine stands in the West Alcove, with the remaining 'witches', 
standing stiffly erect with her eyes off to the side of His Majesty. 
Throughout the whole proceedings, she's done her best to keep silent 
and undetected. Guess that's not possible now. However, she doesn't 
move nor speak, as she has not been spoken to directly. Just remains 
where she is.

Pers arches an eyebrow. "I do not believe she would be opposed, 
Majesty," he answers cooly. "Though the Lady has not formally 
acceeded to my request, as I have not formally made one. I believe 
Lady Justine is in attendance this evening, if you would prefer the 
question be posed presently."

From the east alcove, Fahahd shifts restlessly beside his Baron.

        Erich addresses the Lady Justine, "Do you acquisce, my Lady?"

Justine doesn't move from her spot, but does clear her throat before 
speaking loudly enough for Erich to hear her, "I will do whatever His 
Majesty wishes." Short and to the point.

        Erich nods, then turns his attention to Pers, "Your request, 
then, is granted, my Lord Viscount. You may court her Ladyship, and 
the throne will stand ready to hear your request for her hand in 
marriage when the appropriate time has come."

Pers dips into a final bow. "Thank you for hearing our petitions, 
Your Majesty," he answers calmly. "Alvstad's duty to the Throne."

        Erich nods, "Depart then, my Lord, in the good graces of the 
Throne."

Marching to the front of the throne room, the Seneschal clears his 
throat addressing the Royal family. "Compassionate and Benevolent 
Imperial Majesties, Tiny, Noble Highnesses, By Your leave I shall 
commence to call this court to a close." Just then a pageboy runs up, 
pulling on the Seneschal's sleeve. The child thrusts a slip of 
crystalline into the man's hand. Flustered he stares at it a moment.

"Majesty," the Seneschal says, fumbling for words. "Most 
Understanding and Tolerant Majesties, I beg Your Most Charitable 
pardons as it would seem there is a last minute addition to the 
schedule." He begins to read from the crystalline slip. "Her 
Excellency, The Siridar-Contessa Ophelia Moritani, desires a word 
concerning an undisclosed matter." He trails off, scowling at the 
disruption to his carefully plotted schedule. All the same, he bows 
with a flourish, opening his arm wide as he backs away, "The 
Contessa..."

        The Padishah takes his seat once more upon the throne, "Let 
our noble Moritani cousine approach and be heard, then."

Ophelia leaves from her place in the back of the room.

Hearing her name upon he lips of the efficient Seneschal, Ophelia 
quickly resists the urge to turn tail and flee from the Selamlik. 
Expression light and even pleasant, though, she steps forward 
carefully towards a safe area free of blood and gore before the 
throne amidst the whisper and swoosh of silken skirts and clicking 
heels. And, of course, escorting her and assisting her down into her 
own genuflection is the Moritani Chancellor, ever present by her side 
this evening.

Knowing not to inhale too deeply, lest her stays and tightly-laced 
corset squeeze parts of her out that shouldn't be squeezed out, she 
keeps her breaths short and her gaze directed to the Padishah's knee.

"It is greatly appreciated that His Majesty saw fit to grant us such 
a short-notice place upon today's obviously busy agenda. My own 
petition is brief. Very much so... We are ever at Your Majesty's 
pleasure, and service."

Ophelia stands in the area before the Golden Lion Throne.
Wilhelm stands in the area before the Golden Lion Throne.

        Erich's eyes fall upon the pair in front of him. He furrows 
his brow, not accustomed to such short-notice entries to the 
docket. "Of course, noble cousine," he murmers. "You may speak... and 
shall be heard. The Lion Throne stands ready to hear your petition."

Bowing in reverance at his Contessa's side, Wilhelm remains silent 
but attentive to her words. While he awaits her response, he fidgets 
with something on his finger. A ring, perhaps?

Ophelia's lips twitch into a slight grin, quickly stifled as she 
steadies herself, and arranges her thoughts. As if she hadn't 
rehearsed this all the way from Grumman on the heighliner...

"I only ask, Majesty, that my husband, Lord Wilhelm Christian 
Falkenberg, Baron of Nicanor, na-Count Moritani, be conveyed the full 
title and privileges he is entitled as my newlywed spouse. I ask that 
he be granted the title Count Moritani."

        The Emperor bolts up out of his seat, a deep furrow on his 
brow, "Y-your husband?" He gestures at Wilhelm, speechless for 
several seconds, "Why... this is ... most unexpected." He turns to 
the man and asks, "This is true? You are wedded to the Countess?"

With conviction in his voice, the Moritani Chancellor nods once and 
says, "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty." His gaze lifts only slightly, 
hoping to catch a peripheral glimpse of the Emperor's disposition 
towards the union.
Ophelia turns her hand where it is resting on the front of her silken 
skirts, the golden band on her finger caught by the light of the 
glowglobes and sent into a warm, yellow glint.

        Erich sinks back into his seat, leaning back and drawing a 
long breath. It has been ... quite a night. Slowly his words 
come, "If this union is the will of both of you, I bear no desire to 
see it frowned upon. I will gladly give my favored cousines Moritani 
a blessing from the Throne." He pauses and frowns, leaning 
forward, "But the matter of the Moritani holdings and fief. Do you 
mean, Countess, to cede these to the authority of your ... husband? 
Or is it your intent to remain Siridar-Countess?"

Ophelia shakes her head emphatically. "That I will never cede... I am 
of the Moritani blood, the rightful heir to it, and so named by our 
honorable Elders of our homeworld. My petition is that Lord Wilhelm 
Falkenberg be Count Moritani... not Siridar-Count. The people of 
Grumman will not be so cheaply shifted about, tossed from hand to 
hand like a child's game of hot-fig. No, Majesty... I would remain 
Siridara-Contessa to my people, until the day my breath ceases to 
flow in and out of my body."

Wilhelm nods in silent agreement, having long ago known his wife's 
mind on that matter.

        The Padishah nods and smiles gently, "In that case, we will 
allow the granting of this title to your husband. Be it known to all 
present that this man is recognized by the Lion Throne as the Count 
Moritani, by virtue of his bond of marriage with the Siridar-
Countessa who stands before us.

From the east alcove, Fahahd simply expels a long, slow sigh.

A small sigh escapes Ophelia's lips - a sigh of relief, surely. "I am 
grateful for your kind blessing, Majesty... Thank you." Carefully, 
slowly, she lifts herself to rise and stand before the throne once 
more. "By your leave, Majesty... that was the extent of our petition."

Wilhelm is visibly relieved by the Emperors words, and offers only a 
deeper bow, Ophelia speaking thanks for the both of them."

        Erich remains standing and expels his own sigh. It has indeed 
been a long, trying night... but a memorable one. "Court is ended. 
Let those assembled friends and cousines who wish join us as we 
retire to the ballroom. The Countess Melisande has arranged for 
entertainments and we bid you all welcome in our House."



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